


Everytime I Look At You

by yerawizardsarry



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, i had a lot of feels about percy's resurrection after ep 69 so i had to write it out, so let's pretend there was a few days between percy coming back and raishan and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yerawizardsarry/pseuds/yerawizardsarry
Summary: No one is quite sure how to act around Percy after... everything that happened. But, they love him, so they do what they can.Set after Percy's resurrection, if Vox Machina had a few days to themselves before Raishan revealed herself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Idk man I just have a lot of feelings after episode 69 I just need to write out. Let’s just pretend there’s a time period between Percy returning and Raishan coming to VM in disguise.

 

Ever since Percy… came back, none of the members of Vox Machina know how to treat him. They tip toe by when he falls asleep at the table, his food cold next to him. They’re extra friendly with him, as if he could disappear again at any given moment. They offer to do little things for him; tree stride to Vasselheim for a barrel of black powder, cut tree trunks into smaller and smaller pieces to make arrows, spend quiet time together in the temples as they’re being worked on while he sketches, just offering some sort of comfort. No one is quite sure how to act around Percy after... everything that happened. But, they love him, so they do what they can.

 

 

Keyleth 

Percy is Keyleth’s best friend. One of her only friends. She never thought herself to be the one that makes friends. Growing up, her friends were little creatures. Bunnies, kitties, little birds feasting on druid crafted flowers. Before Percy, Keyleth was always lost to her own thoughts, drowning in them like the waves of a violent ocean pulling her deeper and deeper until she couldn’t see the light anymore.

 

Percy was her beacon of light. Her rescue from the depths of the dark ocean of self doubt. He took her hand and showed her how to create, not just druid craft little flowers of life. How to really build. His tools feel heavy in her soft, delicate hands. Her long elven fingers curve around them, handing each one over as he asks for them, their names etched in her mind from habit. When she was at her lowest, Percy helped her see the light.

 

All Keyleth wanted to do is return that favor. To be the hand extending into the darkness that envelops Percy. He insists that he’s fine, but Keyleth can tell that on the inside, he’s barely holding on. So she does what she can; bringing him tea and food when she knows he hasn’t eaten for half a day. She druid crafts him a hammock in the corner of his workshop when he doesn’t have the energy to make it upstairs to his own bed. He accepts her little offers, knowing there isn’t much else he can do.

 

He’s grateful for her presence, knowing it would be harder if he didn’t have her constant aid. There are times when he wakes up in his workshop, somehow in his little hammock she made him, and Keyleth is slumped over the workbench, using one of her arms as a pillow, and a little puddle of drool forming on the table. He smiles fondly at her, and lets sleep take him once again, still exhausted.

 

 

Grog 

Grog and Percy have never been particularly close. They’ve had their moments, and they see each other as family, but they weren’t as close as some of the other members of Vox Machina. Grog wants to do what he can for Percy. He loves the little nerd. He just doesn’t know how to express it.

 

So he does the only thing he knows how to do. He pulls Percy aside one night, the halls of Whitestone quiet. They settle in the kitchen at the counter. Percy looks confused, to say the least, as Grog quietly guides him to sit. He almost opens his mouth to ask Grog if he’s feeling well, when Grog reaches into the bag of holding and pulls out the dangerous and expensive, mind numbing alcohol he purchased in Ank’Harel. A small grin begins to pull at the corner of Percy’s mouth, Grog’s smile blown wide as he pulls out two cups, fills them both, and sets one of them in front of Percy.

 

“Percy,” Grog tries. “I’m not good with words. It’s never been my… futon.” Percy chuckles, not knowing how Grog could have heard the word “forte” but gave him props for trying to use the word correctly in a sentence. He almost did. “But I do know one thing. Alcohol makes everything better. Especially this shit. So Percy, I’m glad you’re not dead. Let’s drink.”

 

Percy nods, smiling a little despite himself, slamming the drink back. The familiar tingle over takes him, numbness begins to spread across his face, then everything goes black.

 

The next morning, the kitchen staff enters to begin preparing breakfast, only to see Grog slumped forward on the counter, with Percy using his arm as a pillow. They smile to themselves and move around them, making sure to cook just what they’d need for a hangover.

 

 

Scanlan 

Scanlan Shorthalt is a man of many words. He knows how to expel them from his tongue, make them curl through the air and draw in anyone with his charms. He knows how to read people, play their feelings back to them on his lute; whistles of his flute luring them to a sense of comfort. So why he can’t think of a single word, a single note, to begin to describe what he feels over Percy, is driving him crazy.

 

Ask him and he’ll deny it, but gods, did Scanlan cry over Percy. He cracks jokes to lighten the mood, asking Percy for a gun after he’s barely gotten any breath back into his once-again life-filled body, but he was really worried there would have been nothing he could have done. He only knows so much magic. His heals are a little pick-me-up, not life saving spells like Pike knows.

 

But he does know music. He stays up night after night, begging the muse to come to him, until in the middle of the night it hits him. He writes passionately until dawn, scribbling on rolls of parchment until he determines he’s finished, tucking it into his pocket and heading downstairs for breakfast. He finds the group gathered around the table, sipping on morning coffee and tea, Grog shoving large amounts of food into his mouth, Vax and Pike next to him eating equally as fast, making Scanlan certain they were racing.

 

He makes his way to his chair, and stands on it. The group looks up at him, confused. He pulls his lute out and begins to play. It is an awe inspiring song. It tells of their tales together, their adventures and close calls, their gain of friends and loss of allies. He sings of his family, gathered around him, and sings of his love for them. Tears well in his eyes as he looks across them and sees that many of them are looking back at him with the same tears in their eyes.

 

When he finishes, he steps down, sets his lute on the ground next to him, and begins to eat. He meets Percy’s eyes for a moment, and sees a sparkle of a “thank you” glisten back at him. He nods with a slight smile, and continues to eat. Scanlan isn’t the best at words, but he is the best at songs.

 

Pike 

Percy can usually find Pike tucked away in the Sarenrae temple, either helping build or bent over some book. He is always the one that searches her out. He finds peace in her, the warmth of Sarenrae comforting him when he feels like cold blackness is seeping into the corners of his mind once more. He slides the door to the temple open and slips inside, the early morning wind whistling in after him. He finds her curled up on a chair, her long night robe falling about her feet, slippers dangling from her toes, a cloak pulled over her shoulders. It wasn’t that cold out, but Pike’s small form didn’t have much room to circulate heat.

 

Percy crosses the room without a word, sitting himself at the table and pulling his sketchbook out. Pike glances over at him, a small smile forming as she goes back to reading one of the books he gifted her. She had felt guilty about not finding time to read them, and even worse about lying about reading them. So she let sleepless nights take her more and more. She stays up to read, stays up to pray to Sarenrae, asking her to watch over Percy in these trying times. The warmth that reaches back at her lets her know Sarenrae is watching over Percy, as well as the rest of her friends.

 

The two of them sit in comfortable silence for what feels like hours. Percy draws out different ideas for different things, and Pike finishes one book only to pick up the next. They go about like that for the majority of the morning. Only when the sun reaches higher in the sky, and warmth spreads across Whitestone, does Pike speak. She hears Percy’s stomach growl from his place, hunched over, and she presses a feather between the pages of her books and sets it down. She climbs out of her chair and walks over to Percy.

 

A hand on his leg startles him out of his thoughts. He glances down at Pike quickly, relaxing at the sight of her, and smiling at her warm and comforting presence. He sets his writing utensils down and turns to her.

 

“Hello, Pike.”

 

“Hello, Percy. You wanna go get some food?”

 

“Uh, sure… Yes, that sounds lovely.”

 

He gathers up his things while Pike slides her slippers back over her feet and adjusts her cloak around her shoulders. He pulls the door to the temple open and gestures for her to head out first.

 

 

Vax 

Percy has been weary of Vax lately. Well, not exactly lately. He’s always been a little wary of Vax. His mind is still filled with flashes of Vex, laying on the ground, lifeless. He understands that this is what they saw when he died. He hates the feeling. He hates remembering how small Vex looked. How helpless she was. He hates remembering the look on his face as he saw his sister. The tears spilling over his eyes, the last bit of family taken from him. Percy remembers that feeling.

 

Vax looks at Percy and sees his sister. He remembers Percy’s lifeless body as it laid in the dirt, trees obliterated around them; the heartbreaking screams his sister emitted from above, shattering the silence, arrows shooting out and into Orthax. Vax looks at Percy and sees Vex, dressed up in beautiful clothes, hanging onto Percy’s arm in Ank’Harel, the smile on her face as she gambled and drank. He looks at Percy and sees his sister’s eyes light up as Precy presents her with a new arrow, or some alteration to her broom.

 

Vax looks at Percy, but he cannot speak to him. He doesn’t know what to say. Words don’t seem like enough. Actions speak louder than words, but he can’t think of anything to do for Percy. He asks Gilmore, and gets only a response of sympathy. “Think not what you can do for Percival, think what he would like you to do.” As if that made any sense to Vax; his nights spent sleepless, wandering through the castle, fully armored, not willing to make the same mistake twice. He makes his way to the balcony where he pulled the rakshasa over the edge with him. He gazes across Whitestone, the night sky glittering back at him, the air quiet and still. He steps onto the ledge and spreads his wings, opening his arms and letting himself fall forward before they catch the air and he glides up into the sky.

 

He flies about for a few hours, leaving the town behind, but knowing not to wander too far. It is impossible to know what may linger nearby. He ponders over the last few days, over the Percy he knows, the Percy that came back, and Gilmore’s words. A thread of a thought forms in his head. For a moment, he refuses to pay it any mind. But then the thought won’t leave him alone and he is forced to think about it. He sighs and begins to head back to the castle, making his way to his sister’s room.

 

Vex 

When Vex looks at Percy, time slows. It’s like everything around her focuses on just him. She is fixated on every detail of him. The way his glasses slide down his nose when he’s taking notes, the breath he takes to calm himself before he fires Bad News, the curiously excited look in his expression when he gets an idea for a new invention, and the focus between his brows when he’s doing arithmetics that Vex doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know when it began. She just knows it has been ever constant. Ever since she met him, Vex’ahlia has loved Percival.

 

When Vex looks at Percy, she feels comfort. Maybe it’s the same kind of emotional intensity he and her brother both seem to posses. A sense of familiarity. When Vex looks at Percy, all the alarms go off in her head and she can’t help but be drawn to him.

 

Now, Vex can’t stand to look at him. When she does, she feels sick to her stomach. Guilt washes over her in waves, echos of how she could have saved them ringing through her mind. She glares at her bow, a stupid vestige that has put their lives at risk. She hates the vestiges. She wishes none of this had ever happened. They’ve already lost so much and it’s all their fault.

 

She’s interrupted from her thoughts by a soft knock at her door. She pulls herself from her sleepless bed, opening the door to see her brother on the other side. He has that “emo elf” look on his face, leading Vex to assume he has something emotional to talk about.

 

“What do you want?” she asks. He doesn’t answer, he just extends his hand and she takes it, and he leads her down the hall silently. Castle Whitestone was quiet and soft at the time of night, yet a wave of anxiety flashes over her, various scenarios racing through her head. Vax leads her down the stairs, through the castle, to Percy’s workshop. He stops in front of the door, still holding her hand. He looks her in the eyes softly, understanding, full of love. A moment passes between them. He steps forward and gives her a hug and a nod. Then he leaves. He leaves her there in front of Percy’s door, the words unspoken but the meaning understood. She takes a steadying breath and raises her hand to knock.

 

 

Percy 

Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III died. He _died_. He was bested in combat because he made a stupid and selfish decision and let Ripley get away all those months ago. Not only did he put his friends in danger, but he put the whole world in danger. The dangerous designs of his weapons were now spread across the world, falling into the wrong hands left and right. And it was all his fault.

 

He couldn’t look at his friends. Every time he did, he saw them, dead, Orthax feeding on their souls such as he did to Percy. They all wanted to be there for him. They all wanted to help. But there was nothing they could do. They can’t change the past. They can only try to be better in the future.

 

So he worked. He spent all his days in his workshops, bettering his guns, building more ammunition, building new things he can only hope will help, creating new arrows for Vex. _Vex._ He doesn’t remember much about being dead. He remembers seeing Keyleth’s hand reaching for him in the darkness. But he also remembers… a voice. Soft, yet desperate. Pleading for him, crying out, full of _love._

 

He knew it had to be Vex. Beautiful Vex’ahlia, witty, intelligent, keen Vex’ahlia. She swims through his thoughts when he least expects it. Thoughts of her smile interrupts his sketches, thoughts of her laugh makes his hand slip as he pounds away on hot metal. The way her eyes light up as he brings her some new invention keeps him up at night. It drives him crazy. He only wishes he can find a moment to speak with her, but his work keeps him busy, forcing him to set those thoughts aside. So he continues to work, late into the night, when the moon is at it’s peak and the world around him is quiet.

 

A knock. Soft, but enough to catch his attention. He turns his head to the door, waiting to see if it came again, or if he had simply imagined it. A soft voice.

 

“Percy?” _Vex._ “It’s me, darling. May I come in?”

 

He lets out a shaky breath. He sets his tools down and wipes his face with a clean rag. He moves to the door and opens it, and he has to catch himself on the doorway to keep from collapsing. There, on the other side, is Vex’ahlia. Vex’ahlia, whose beauty could never accurately be described in words. She reminds him of the woods, at sunrise, when the world is soft and full of life. He looks at her and everything melts away.

 

He gives her an attempt at a smile. She gives a shaky one back, and before he knows it, tears are spilling over her eyes and she’s pulling him into a tight hug, there in the doorway. His arms wrap around her waist without a thought. He pulls her close as she sobs into his neck. Hands on the small of her back. Hands desperately clawing at his shoulders. Breathless sobs filling his ears. He fights back his own tears. Vex tries to form words, choked syllables falling from her mouth. He shushes her, rubbing his hands up and down her back in an attempt to soothe her.

 

“I know, Vex. I know.”

 

“Percy…”

 

“I know. I love you, too.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> IDK I JUST HAD A LOT OF PERC’AHLIA FEELS OKAY I know it’s not great and I didn’t even talk about how Cassandra may feel but YOU KNOW who needs accuracy when you have canon perc’ahlia? Not me that’s for sure.


End file.
